


Carry the Fire

by dallon (lionsonjupiter)



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frank Iero Is A Little Shit, Frerard, Gerard Way is a Sweetheart, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsonjupiter/pseuds/dallon
Summary: "Y'know what, Way?""Hm?""You're the worst Catholic I've ever met."--start date: 22421last updated: 3221--trigger warning list:-homophobia/slurs-religion/religious guilt-mental illness-mentions of self harm/suicide
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 13





	Carry the Fire

"What's the point in going, though?" The brittle crunch of snow underfoot trailed behind skeptical words, the cold bite of air giving the rounded and gentle ending a snapping tail. An exasperated huff followed once the question had settled down.

"The point of church?" There was a thoughtful pause. "It's where we commune with people who share our beliefs, it's a place to feel like we belong, like we're safe and heard and not alone. Look, I know you think church is the most boring place in the world, but I really think you'll like it. It's been a while." The warm and homely voice of Frank's mother always held a persuasive edge to it, but Frank wasn't buying it. 

He felt so lame, walking down the path that led to his local church on a bitter winter Sunday. He would much rather be sitting in his room with his guitar with the heater on full blast, but his mother had insisted that he go to church just once. In return, he would get a new pedal of his choice. He figured it wasn't the most terrible trade he'd ever made, but now he was beginning to think the new pedal wasn't worth an hour's worth of a numb ass and an even number mind.

"Let's just get this thing over with." Frank muttered once the soaring cross-topped building came fully into view, his footsteps growing heavier and more reluctant. His mother walked slightly ahead, a sudden pep in her step. Frank wondered how anyone could find joy in going to church, let alone get visibly energized at the sight of it. But then again, his mother was the most religious person he knew. Not the type to judge people under that lens, just the type to hold herself as high as she could for God. Frank liked that about her. He remembered coming out to her earlier in the year, being met with a tight hug and nothing but praise. That's how everyone should be, he thought.

He didn't really know if he was religious or not. Sure, he believed that there was something more after life on Earth, but he felt strange about holding both that stance and his title of "teenage rebel". He didn't like to dwell on it, as the smoky conflict often set off alarms in his head, letting loose a spiraling and uncontainable chaos that left him grasping helplessly for a break.

The walk into church was strange for Frank. He hadn't been inside in years, but everything was the same. The older crowd congregated near the door, speaking in hushed tones about whatever. The kids huddled together in the back pews, giggling and creating enough noise to piss off a few grouchy seniors. The youngest kids stayed glued to their parents with their overly fancy dresses and little suits, eyes vacant and confused. 

The pews looked well-used and aged, the rose windows clouded by the passing decades, the two alters faded on two spots each from the grip of many pairs of convicted and passionate hands. The rafters above stared down blankly, making small talk with the heavily trodden carpet parallel on the floor. Everything felt strangely welcoming, it was as if every object in the room was whispering "join us" in the voice of angels.

He felt out of place here. While his mother had convinced him to join her, she had failed to get him into a suit. Instead, he stuck with his typical punk style. He decided he would rather stick out like a sore thumb here than be miserable in a stiff and sweaty suit, there was no way he would survive the hour with the inability to properly bend.

Eventually, Frank and his mother made their way to their pew, thus beginning the wait for the service to begin. Frank watched from behind half-closed eyelids as the altar boys slowly entered, walking in a single file line, exactly five feet apart. Most of them looked to be middle school aged, all working on autopilot while their expressions told a tale of longing, longing to be sat in front of a tv screen, a laptop, a phone, anything that emitted blue light. Frank was certain that, on the flip side, their parents were holding in cries of "that's my boy up there!"

Amidst the dottings of uninterested seventh graders, there was one boy who proved to be an exception. Frank pinned him at late high school age, maybe a senior. He couldn't help but notice some things as the other walked by him. His expression was set on the task at hand, his jaw squared firmly and his eyes fiery with passion. He walked with intention, with purpose, with reason. And, sin ignored, he was attractive. Too attractive. Frank couldn't exactly pin down why, but something in him just told him that this one altar boy was gorgeous. He had to force himself to not stare, it was an arduous task at best. 

"This is so fucking wrong." Frank whispered to himself, casting his eyes into his lap and clasping his hands as a way to cling to his rationality. "You can't do this now, not here." He couldn't believe he had found someone here attractive, absolutely could not. That had to be, like, illegal or something. Illegal to find a churchgoer pretty, yeah, that sounded good to him right now. He bet the guy was stuck up anyways, the type to say slurs to someone's face, the type to scream at someone in the halls at school for saying "fuck". He hoped he was, at least... just to save himself the turmoil.

Slumping a little in his seat, he held his attention firmly on the back of the head of the person in front of him. Maybe if he stayed like this, things would be okay. He didn't even register the gentle footsteps of the priest advancing to the altar, so he got an unpleasant surprise when his mother shook his shoulder to make him pay attention again. A tortured and dramatic sigh escaped the chapped barrier that his lips had been making since they entered the church. This was going to be the longest hour of his fucking life.

\-----

Standing uncomfortably in the common area, Frank lost himself to his racing thoughts, submission making its mark through his slightly slacked jaw. Mass felt like the worst fever dream in the history of fever dreams, as if such a thing had a documented start. Words mixed and flowed like a bubbling stream there, his eyes fixed shamelessly and robotically on the determined altar boy the entire time. When the instruction to stand up or sit down was given, his mother would do the work for him. She had accepted that making her son show up was about all she could ask from him. Making him go wouldn't make him pay attention. Frank figured he would have paid attention if it weren't for the altar boy, fuck, the god-be-damned altar boy.

A gentle, guiding hand on his shoulder was enough to tear him away from the harsh claws of his mind. Frank didn't know how long he had been zoned out, swaying in the room's nonexistent breeze like a frail branch in the outside's winter breath, but it was long enough for his mother to have to rescue him. She led him out of the two heavy mahogany doors that led into the snowy expanse they had just been walking through a little over an hour prior, not speaking a word until she had her son half-consciously walking down the path that threaded all the way back home. 

"See, that wasn't the worst thing in the world, right?" Frank was too busy focusing on the way his shoes were becoming soaked with snow again after having dried off inside of the warm church over the duration of mass. He was mid-shiver when he realized that his mother had spoken, shrugging neutrally in response to her question. It honestly wasn't that bad, especially since he had something, someone, to focus on during the time, but he wasn't about to give his mother the satisfaction of knowing that her little rebel child actually didn't mind church. That would mess up his persona... that was unacceptable.

A mock defeated sigh swirled through the air then, visible and dressed with frost. "Well, I guess you won't have to go anymore. It's a shame you won't get to eye up that altar boy again. Let's just get your pedal." Frank's mother mumbled, her tone drenched in slyness. Frank nearly choked on his tongue at his mom's statement, stumbling a little bit. She had seen him staring? Fuck, that probably meant the boy had seen him too. He didn't even have an excuse locked and loaded to defend himself with, instead, he was armed with a sharp and whiny "mom!!"

"What? You thought you were being subtle?" His mother was speaking playfully, a small chuckle accenting her words. She shook her head at her son's inability to be sneaky about checking someone out, looking over to the now ruffled Frank. Frank worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, eventually dropping his tension and smacking his forehead.

"I am so fucked if he noticed." He mumbled, unsurprised when his mother shot back with a warning about his language. He kicked at the snow as he walked, groaning softly as the realization really set in and made itself at home. He was beginning to consider going to church next weekend now, just to see if the altar boy would come up to him and call him out on the staring. Maybe get a little dose of insults while he was there. He wondered how he would ask his mother to let him go without being doomed to endure a prideful "told you so" from her.

Instead of letting the quicksand of thoughts swallow him whole, Frank fought back and resurfaced with an off topic question. "Do we have to stop by home first before GuitarCenter, or no?" He asked quietly, eyes trained on the horizon ahead. A healthy hour of squatting in the local GuitarCenter while his mother urged him to hurry up would do him good, he decided. While he was there he would be given room to breathe and ignore the altar boy, forget about him, even. He could return home with a new pedal so he could warp the sounds that blared from his guitar, as well as the racing thoughts in his head. 

"I need to change clothes, so we do, yes." His mother answered after a few seconds, staring down at her Sunday best. Frank nodded at that, smiling a little bit when their house came into view. He wanted to stand right under the vent in his room for the duration of his visit, spinning slowly in the raining heat like a rotisserie chicken over a fire. He was absolutely frozen, his toes and fingers having gone numb a long time ago. Maybe if the bite of frore air would slip into his ears and put his brain on pause, things would be okay again.

Frank watched intensely as his mother unlocked the front door of the house, waiting impatiently for her to let him inside. When she did, Frank darted past her and over the threshold that birthed the cozy and warm atmosphere he had abandoned this morning. He was a bit slower with his ascent up the stairs, taking his sweet time to feel the way his body heated up the higher he climbed. By the time he was settling under the vent, his fingers were already starting to throb and sting painfully as the heat seeped into them, the nerve endings protesting the sudden arousal.

He got about ten minutes worth of his slow spinning before his mother was standing in his doorway, now dressed in something different. Frank always thought she dressed like someone who would seek the "help" of a manager over a simple mistake, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. His mother was sweet and considerate, and understood that acting like there was a burning stick up her ass in response to a mild inconvenience was not the way to go about things.

Frank couldn't help but gaze longingly at his vent as he left the room, but sprouted like a flower in spring when he realized that they would be taking the car. Fuck yeah, a traveling heat-box. He slipped into the passenger side peacefully, pulling his phone out of his back pocket the moment his seatbelt had clicked. He hadn't been allowed to use it once they entered the church, and had since forgotten all about it, until now. His plan was to just play some mind-numbing game to make the ride pass quicker, maybe aim for a new high score in Subway Surfers.

"So, we can't stay for too long at your guitar place today, thirty minutes max. I was invited to have lunch with some friends, and I doubt you would want to tag along," Frank's mother said once she had pulled out of the driveway, "I think I've dragged you along to enough places for today." Frank hummed in response to that, his eyes locked on the mystery box right in front of his character, which was conveniently placed just before a stagnent train. 

He was immediately disappointed by his mother's words. He hated when his time at GuitarCenter was cut short of what he wanted, since the place was like his second home. He was well acquainted with the owner of their particular location, and the pair often got lost in a meandering conversation or two whenever Frank showed up. His name was Matt, and he played drums for a local band called Revenir.

Frank had always wanted to be in a band like Matt's: decently known, cool enough to have a BandCamp, and made of members who were fully competent with their instruments. He had been in a band called Pencey Prep about a year ago, standing as the lead vocalist and one of the guitarists. The difference between Pencey and Revenir was simple: Pencey fucking sucked. It was a despairing kind of suck either, it was a punk kind of suck. Self aware and acceptant. Frank knew they could barely pull a baker's dozen worth of people on a good night, but they had still found it in themselves to write and record an entire album. He had a copy of the cd nailed, or, as he liked to say, crucified, to his wall.

He immediately perked up when his mother pulled the car into the GuitarCenter parking lot, not even having to look up to know they were there. He has memorized every turn and stop that was made to get there, so all he needed to do to know where he was was feel for it. When the car was parked, Frank acted like the seat was on fire, not to the surprise of his mother. He didn't even wait for her before he was shoving past the smudgy glass doors and calling out for Matt.

"Pellisier!" He crowed, putting his hands flat on the front counter and peering into the back room. The only thing stopping him from hopping over the counter entirely to search for his friend himself was the presence of another person in the room. He really didn't want the cops on his ass again, as the other customers were under the assumption that he was trying to rob the place. 

The other person looked up from the bass he was cradling, staring blankly in Frank's direction before returning his attention to the glittering instrument in his arms Frank thought the bass looked unique. He had seen it hanging from the wall ever since he first started coming here, but no one ever took interest in it. He knew how to play bass, but he preferred to focus on his precious guitar at home, Pansy.

Frank didn't even notice Matt making his way around the counter, but he sure as fuck noticed when he was grabbed tightly around his middle and hoisted into the air like a doll. His immediate thought and plan of action was to turn and spit in Matt's face, but the last time he did that he was forced to untangle the wiring of Matt's computer in the back room as some kind of punishment. 

Abandoning his first plan, he opted to just start squirming like a free fish on a pier. It was enough for Matt to drop him, not set him down properly, but just let him fall like a bag of sand. Frank swore loudly when his foot landed sideways, crumpling to the floor before grabbing his now sore ankle and rolling around dramatically.

"Fuck you." Frank groaned, trying to kick Matt in the shins with his free foot. Matt simply laughed at him and poked at his side with his shoe, firing back with a, "save that for your wet dreams." Frank eventually found the strength to peel himself of the floor, standing up and leaning against the front counter. 

He watched as his mother finally came inside, phone pressed firmly to her ear. She looked as though she was angry at the person, or people, on the other line. He didn't bother eavesdropping, as all the times he had done so before had been too boring to be worth listening to. Always something about work or some relative Frank hadn't seen since he was a toddler. Frank often wondered how his mother could handle such a mundane life.

"So, dick-wheat, what brings you here on the Lord's day?" Matt asked, leaning over the counter from the opposite side. Frank shrugged a little. "First off, that's dick-nuff to you. Second off, I made a trade with my mom. She's getting me a new pedal all because I went to church with her today." He answered, eyeing the options that rested just below him.

"Sorry, dick-nuff, didn't mean to ruffle your feathers there. And she's what? Dude, you're nineteen. Dick. Nuff. Can't you buy your own shit?" Matt crossed his arms then, giving Frank a half-serious look. Matt was the kind of person who believed that once one hit eighteen, they were responsible for everything. Frank was often the target of criticism from his friend, as he was nineteen and still living with his mother. In Frank's defense, he had just graduated six months prior, but Matt didn't care.

"Shut up, I'm not the one who made the offer, she was. She's doing this willingly, I'm just benefiting from free shit," Frank muttered defensively, "besides, all I've gained from church is a new source of daydreaming." Matt's attention piqued at that, his arms falling onto the table again as he raised an eyebrow to fish out more details. Frank ran his hand through his hair and looked over at his mother, who was still on the phone. Satisfied with the knowledge that she wouldn't be listening, he turned back to Matt.

"Well, okay. I'm sitting in the pew before everything starts, yeah? Not giving a shit, just waiting for it to just end already. The altar boys start to walk in with their candles and shit, no biggie, just some middle school kids who would without a doubt call me a faggot on XboxLive, y'know. But then, there's something different." Frank paused for suspense, leaving Matt to wave his hand impatiently for him to move on with his story.

"There's a different altar boy. He's, like, a senior in high school or something. He's walking down that aisle like it's nobody's fucking business. And he's fucking gorgeous." Frank sighed, staring past Matt at nothing in particular. Matt had both eyebrows raised now, dangerously close to disappearing under the short bangs that fell over his forehead.

"So what you're telling me is that you've got the hots for a fucking Catholic sycophant. Really, dick-nuff?" Matt chuckled, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. All Frank could do was huff at him and throw up a middle finger. He didn't want Matt's vehement hatred for Christianity smother his opinion on the altar boy. Sure, Frank wasn't the biggest fan of that fact, he would feel much better if the guy was wearing something other than a cassock, but he wasn't going to let it cloud any other part of his life or personality.

"Yes really, Pellisier. And if I ever walk in here with him hanging off me, you'll be the one eating those fucking words for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Frank mumbled, pushing away from the counter and dropping to a crouch. "Anyways, show me a pedal I haven't bought yet." He wanted to change the subject, and he was well aware that arguing with Matt could go on for literal hours, hours that he didn't have.

Matt had his mouth opened to speak when Frank's mother stuffed her phone into her pocket angrily and marched over to them. "Frankie baby, I've got to go into work. A certain someone thinks I owe them unpaid work on a Sunday." She all but growled, looking like she was a second away from exploding. Frank frowned and casted his gaze to Matt, before slowly beginning to shuffle to the door.

"Hey, no. You can stay here. You've earned it. You can have Matthew bring you home when you're ready. Please don't come in through the window again, you know where the spare key is." Frank's mother said hurriedly, taking her son by the shoulders to stop him. Frank nodded at her and returned to his position at the counter.

"I'll see you later then, I guess," Frank scratched the back his head as he spoke, "love you." His mother gave him a kiss on the forehead before she turned and left, muttering under her breath. Frank sighed after a few stiff seconds of silence, smiling slightly now that he was free to spend as much time as he wanted in the GuitarCenter, so long as Matt let him stay. 

"Um... anyways, you haven't seen this one yet. We just got the first shipment this morning." Matt said, picking up the fragments of conversation as he took out an emerald green pedal from the very top of the display. "It's an... Ibanez Tube Screamer. Just an overdrive pedal, for like, blues and metal shit. Billie Joe Armstrong uses them, if that means anything to you. Dunno how interested you'd be in something like that."

Frank analyzed the pedal that was being shown to him, thinking about what use he'd get out of it. He knew Matt had just said it was popular with blues and metal, but he figured he could make it work with what he was going for. However, he wouldn't know for sure until he got to try it out. "Are you gonna let me try the thing, Pessilier, or are you just gonna tell me about it?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow and holding his hands out expectantly.

"If you weren't my friend I would beat the absolute shit out of you, dick-nuff." Matt said sharply, reaching over the counter to put the pedal into Frank's waiting hands. Frank knew Matt was kidding, but he also knew that Matt was fully capable of turning him into a maraca filled with bones. The man was the type to take down a gunman with his bare hands without breaking a sweat... that may or may not have been based on a true story.

Frank gave Matt the most exaggerated smile he could offer before turning on his heel and making his way to the guitar displays. The guy from earlier was still holding the glittery bass, and was now staring at Frank with a gaze good enough to baptize even the most pretentious politician of their pride. Frank wondered if he had said anything wrong, or if the guy was just trying to figure him out. Either way, the holes being burnt through his clothes were enough to make him shiver uncomfortably.

Frank sat down on an amp near the guitar he often used when trying out pedals, plugging in the Tube Screamer before going to grab "his" guitar, a Les Paul called "31". He had used Ibanez products before, and they always had a nice sound, but he much preferred Electro-Harmonix pedals. He didn't want to be biased, though, and he definitely didn't want to walk out with nothing to hold up his mother's promise with. Since she was gone, he figured he could get her to pay back whatever his pedal would be worth.

After playing around with the knobs on the pedal, Frank started to play his go-to song, "Attention Reader." It was one of his favorites to play when Pencey was still together, and it was probably one of, if not his most favorite to sing as well. He was aware that they hadn't played the song much, as it was done after the band has begun their descent towards the grave, but he didn't care. Now he could play the song however many times he wanted, even if the snaking memories of his band came to squeeze at his throat whenever the choice was made.

He didn't even have to play through half of his song before deciding that he wanted the pedal. The vintage sound was more infectious than the black plague, the taste of a time before his own becoming addictive extremely quickly. An intoxicating change from what he knew, melting into his bones faster than anything before it. Admittedly, the sound didn't match what "Attention Reader" was meant to be, but that didn't matter. He knew it wouldn't be difficult to find a song that fit the pedal like a finely tailored suit.

Frank began to put the guitar back on the wall and unplug everything, humming to himself. He felt someone tap his shoulder then, forcing himself not to jump from the suddenness. He turned his head in the direction of the hand, only half surprised when he saw that the hand belonged to the guy with the bass. 

"Hey, I... I really liked your playing... did you write that song yourself?" The guy asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Frank smiled brightly at him and nodded, turning the pedal over in his hands. "I did, yeah. Thank you, that really means a lot, dude." He replied, putting his free hand in his pocket. 

"I'm trying to get into music... um, I'm curious about bass. Do you know how to play?" The guy asked quietly, receiving another nod from Frank. "If it's no bother, can you help me out? You don't have to, of course, but I don't wanna bother that guy 'cuz he seems busy." 

"Oh, of course I can help, I've got more time to spend than money. And that guy's Matt, he's not busy, but he only plays drums." Frank was already making his way over to where the guy had his bass set up, sitting down on a nearby amp. "You wouldn't happen to have a name I could call you, would you?" Frank asked, searching for something to call the guy other than... well, the guy.

"It's Mikey... my name's Mikey."

"Amazing, I'm Frank." The two shook hands as Mikey was sitting down on his own amp and grabbing his bass again. Frank leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees so he could easily reach out to adjust Mikey's fingers if necessary. "So, these strings have names that correspond with a specific note that they play. From left to right, it goes E, A, D, and G."

\-----

"I thought you didn't have the money!" Mikey exclaimed, watching as Frank slid his debit card across the front counter towards Matt. The twain had just finished an argument that was ending with Frank buying the sparkly bass for Mikey, the latter clinging to the former and complaining the entire time. Frank had simply ignored the protests, his decision having already been made.

"I don't, but that doesn't matter. Dude, you're a fucking natural, it would be a sin for me not to buy it for you." Frank explained, internally cringing as his total was raised from $106.61 to $525.10. It was going to take more than a months worth of walking the neighbor's dogs to get that money back, but that was okay. "It'll all pay off when I see you rocking out on a stage in five years." He added confidently as he watched Matt put the bass in a sleek case and hand it to Mikey, who already had a amp at his feet and a fistful of picks.

"Well, it means the world to me, Frank. Really, it does." Mikey said quietly as he leaned the bass against the amp and pulled out his phone. "I uh... have to call my brother to pick me up, sorry." He informed Frank and Matt, burying his nose into his phone for a second before holding it up to his ear instead. "Hey Gee. Yeah, I'm done. I got a bass and some other stu- no, no I didn't pay for it, my..." He trailed off as his gaze met Frank's, "my friend did. I made a friend. Okay, yeah, see you in ten."

"Do you think you'll be okay here on your own, little dude? I've gotta take shortstack home, and I'm the only one who runs the place." Matt asked Mikey, who nodded reluctantly. Matt scratched the back of his neck uneasily, but didn't ask anything else, simply retreating into the back room to clean everything up for the night.

"Hey, do you think we could exchange numbers? Just so we can practice and stuff like that?" Frank looked up at Mikey when he realized the other had spoken, nodding quickly. "Yeah," he answered, grabbing a pen from over the counter, "hand me your arm." He instructed, writing his number out on Mikey's skin when it was presented to him.

"Thanks, I'll message you later, I guess." Mikey smiled down at the pen on his arm, before staring out the glass of the storefront to wait for his brother. Matt returned soon after, pulling on his coat and twirling his keys on his finger. "Everyone ready to freeze their balls off?" He asked, being met with one awkward hum and an elbow to the ribs.

The three of them made their way into the cold, Mikey stopping right outside the door. Matt and Frank stood by Matt's piece of shit Honda, just a few feet away. Matt had decided last minute to wait in the car with Frank so they could watch Mikey, just to make sure he got his ride. Frank was busy tugging at the handle of the passager side door, ignoring Matt's scolding about how he was going to "rip the handle off". Frank only stopped when Matt unlocked the car, pausing to wave goodbye to Mikey before getting into the dark and cold vehicle.

Mikey's ride showed up quicker than everyone had thought, and the boy practically ran to the car in search of warmth. Matt slid into the driver's side of his car and turned the key, hand darting to the heat knob. Frank watched Mikey and his brother pull out of the parking lot peacefully, smiling as they drove out of view. Matt smiled as well and copied the other car, sighing as the car finally started to heat up.

"Y'know something, dude?"

"What?"

"He looks awfully similar to that altar boy."

\-----

bam! new story! what does everyone think? love it, hate it? please let me know :)

lub u lotz –dal


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